


Coffee Break

by TruebornAlpha



Series: Jock Strap [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Porn, Sciles, Sex, Teen Wolf AU, handjobs, season 1 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-08 23:19:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1959921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TruebornAlpha/pseuds/TruebornAlpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott and Stiles didn't meet until high school, Scott the asthmatic outcast and Stiles the popular jock who was best friend to Jackson Whittemore. Scott doesn't trust the intentions of his rival's best friend, but Stiles has his eyes set on the prize.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee Break

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by Loz's amazing AU [here](http://lozenger8.tumblr.com/post/88246964021/initially-written-for-mating-games-but-i-messed) and [here](http://lozenger8.tumblr.com/post/88264026251/tofixtheshadows-replied-to-your-post-initially). We just couldn't resist playing in her world! What would it be like if Stiles didn't grow up with the boy who taught him how to be kind and Scott didn't have anyone who believed in him so hard he learned to believe in himself?

__

_Art by the amazing[Rouvere](http://rouvere.tumblr.com/)_

Scott fiddled with the hem of his jacket, trying to make it look like he wasn’t fidgeting at all as he kept sneaking furtive glances over at Stiles. It wasn’t surprising the guy had a car, he was one of the most popular kids in school, what was surprising was that he had  _this_  car. For someone who hung out all the time with Jackson and his flashy porche, the boxy little jeep seemed almost endearing.

He couldn’t figure Stiles out. Anyone who was friends with Jackson was the enemy, at least according to Erica, and this was his best friend. Being that close to the source of all douchedome should have rubbed off, who else would be able to stand Whittemore? Instead, Stiles was almost  _nice_  in that weird pushing the line kind of way. At least he wasn’t outright cruel and never really helped Jackson slam him into lockers and make his life miserable.  He didn’t have the right to be so hot either. Isaac said it was because pretty people flocked together and that must have been true. It was the only reason that explained how anyone could spend time with Jackson without taking a bat to the face.

This was all the worst decision. Kira was the only one who thought he should go for it, but she liked pushing him out of his comfort zone and watching him flail, claiming it was good for him. The rest of his friends didn’t trust this at all, Jackson’s best friend didn’t just suddenly want to hang out without strings attached. This was going to end up with him stripped to his boxers and humiliated on Youtube, but even knowing that, Scott still climbed into the jeep and sat quietly, putting himself at risk for…for _something_. Maybe something. Never in a million years something but still, looking over at Stiles and smiling to himself, he decided this was the best kind of mistake. “So where are we going that you haven’t been banned from?”

___

When Stiles told McCall that they’d be studying, the biggest worry he had was that McCall would bring books. Forty-five minutes after their supposed meeting time, two large root beers and a nervous tick that looked too much like a snarl later, Stiles was willing to concede that he had bigger problems to deal with. He’d gotten dressed for this. He’d buffed his Jeep (or gotten it buffed, same thing). He’d found the one diner that served little umbrellas in their milkshakes. It was the stupid sort of thing he thought McCall would appreciate, and maybe, Stiles could appreciate it, too.

Self-righteous anger was more difficult to maintain before the age of cellphones. Stiles had stared at a stubbornly blank screen for so long, he hadn’t noticed the ice in his drink melt.

There was always the chance that McCall had gotten lost or ran into an emergency, or something else equally - reasonable. Except McCall was the reasonable sort of boy who’d have sent word. Stiles decided to not be.

Which was how he had gotten McCall bundled into the front seat of his Jeep, floppy haired and vaguely confused, and he regretted having so much sugar in his system when he could have had something sweeter. With dry disinterest and more nonchalance than he really felt, Stiles pointed out, “If you showed up earlier, you’d already know.”

___

Scott pressed his lips together thoughtfully, unaware of how his face scrunched when he thought too hard. He rolled one shoulder, never one to hide his feelings even if it made him seem so very uncool. Kira would be laughing at him, but Scott never felt like he needed to hide it. “I didn’t really feel like being a target.” He admitted, voice even and completely casual. “I got enough of that at my old school when I was living with my Dad. I was kind of hoping to start over again here or at least not get it quite as bad.” The implication hung in the air, Jackson’s constant harassment spoke for itself. Please be worth the risk.

He wanted to ask why someone like Stiles would waste his time with Whittemore. Stiles was brilliant and funny, always sarcastic and oh so confident in ways that made the tips of his ears turn red and force him to awkwardly flee whenever they were trapped in the same room together. He’d said Jackson had been the only one who’d been able to stand him, Scott couldn’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t think he was wonderful.

Okay, maybe that was a little too embarrassing. The boy forced his fingers to be still, releasing their nervous plucking at his jacket sleeve. “I am sorry I kept you waiting. I was half sure you wouldn’t have shown up anyway.”

___

Stiles took his eyes off the road for a full ten seconds, and really, if they were in a PSA, they’d be dead already. It was just incredibly difficult to look away from McCall - a lot of the time. Stiles considered just how all right he would have been to drag McCall from his home, had the need arisen. He dropped his hand on McCall’s thigh, instead of going for the gear shift, so transparent that Scott could shine a light through him.

But this was an experiment. There were still variables Stiles needed to collect. One of them happened to be the velocity at which blood rushed to McCall’s face, given any sort of stressor.

"Whatever, you’re making it up to me. Pie’s on you," he countered, squeezing just so. What Stiles couldn’t control was the way his voice dropped into a shamed sort of murmur, not the apology McCall maybe deserved, but Stiles didn’t do apologies. Another important variable would be - how many jackets did Stiles have to destroy before McCall could only wear denim? (His estimate was 5. It was a well-educated guess).

"And when I say yes, I mean it." 

And when he had to shift gears, he regretted it.

___

The answer was 0.3 seconds. Brown skin flushed even darker and Scott swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how loud his heart seemed to beat in his ears. He tried to remain relaxed, like the touch hadn’t sent him spiraling in hand flapping, feet stomping, hysterical fanboying on the inside and desperately praying his body didn’t betray him. There wouldn’t be anything worse than an awkward boner right now. Maybe if all the blood stayed in his face, he wouldn’t have to worry about anything else.

“Y-yeah. Pie. That’s fair.” He only stuttered the once and Scott counted that a win. Somewhere, Kira would be fist pumping at the sky. “So I’m learning. I’m sorry I doubted you, you’re definitely not as much of a total jerk as I was afraid of.” Okay, somewhere Kira would be facepalming, Scott too blunt to pull off any successful type of flirting.

When Stiles shifted his hand, Scott was sure the imprint left behind was burning a hole right through his jeans. There had to be some kind of permanent mark left behind, he could feel the weight and the warmth lingering on his skin. He chided himself, trying not to be quite so shamefully obvious about all of this. It could still be a trick, though that touch made it all almost worth it. If this really was some kind of trap set up by Jackson to humiliate him, Scott wasn’t sure he’d be able to make it through. Alone, he could take that assbutt but if Stiles was the one who tricked him…”Are we driving all the way to New York to find a place you haven’t been kicked out of?”

___

Holy shit holy shit abort mission ABORT MISSION-

Stiles mind fizzled unhelpfully as McCall’s tongue rolled over his l’s and his hands fluttered, and Stiles was going to press that into the backseat of his Jeep before the night was through. That was a promise. 

"This is not you proving you aren’t a jerkface, dude," Stiles scoffed loudly, and pushed a little too hard on the accelerator. He made a show of eyeing McCall up and down, and it wasn’t much of a show. His gaze lingered on McCall’s collars, like he hadn’t noticed them a million times before, like he hadn’t thought of what they’d feel like beneath his lips and  teeth. Stiles didn’t know how they weren’t already in a ditch. "Unless you’re planning on walking."

But he pulled into a Ma’s Diner, flashing neon sign proudly proclaiming that it needed to be replaced as its N failed to light. It looked like it had seen better days, and could barely fit in four booths. Still, its chairs were bright red and checkered tiles were spotless. Stiles parked in the front and dragged Scott into the booth closest to the jukebox.

It was a happy coincidences that it was the smallest one. It was the product of a cold and calculating mind that Scott wouldn’t be able to move without bumping his knees against Stiles’.

"Most places I’m infamous. I’m always on my best behavior here."

___

Scott muffled a squawk, laughing as the jeep shuddered and accelerated dangerously. All of this was dangerous, a risk that was so uncharacteristic of Scott McCall. He always pressed up against the line, edging his toes as close as possible so he could peer over but never took the leap. It was ingrained in him to be careful, told since he was little how he never measured up. Too dumb to be one of the smart kids, too fragile with broken lungs to run, too eager to make friends as a kid that had him labeled the “weird one” before he’d finished the first grade. Eventually he stopped trying to win them over, burying himself in comics and fantasy novels, happier to live in quiet daydreams. It wasn’t until he started at Beacon Hills High that he’d fallen in with his clique, more of an accident than anything. Boyd had recognized an outcast and had come to sit with him at lunch without explanation, the rest following suit until they adopted him into their clan of misfits.

This was well beyond any of his experiences and it was all Scott could do to keep himself from giggling nervously. He bit down hard on his bottom lip as he slid into the booth, trying not to think about Stiles’s leg between his knees or the confident smirk. “This place makes you behave? Wow, they must have one hell of a milkshake or something if you’re willing to rein it in.” Scott teased, trying to keep the heat from creeping back into his face. “Unless they’ve got a douche discount?”

___

Stiles stared at McCall’s red red mouth so long he almost missed that. It hit him like a smack, jumping a laugh out of him. McCall’s face did that thing where it made his dimples show, and Stiles had thought about how his smile would look around his dick more times than he could count.

"Like they’d need an excuse to throw food at Jackson," he snickered, kicking McCall under the table, and it was an appraised action, but it also wasn’t. Scott McCall had a sharp mind and sharper tongue hidden under layers of fluffy curls. He called Jackson a dick to his face, something too many guys on the lacrosse team were too afraid to do to Stiles’ endless amusement, but he also said things like, ‘I didn’t really feel like being a target.’

"Look Scott, I’m educating you here." He scoffed, all pompous self-assurance and slanted smirks. Then he winked, and part of Stiles kind of wished Scott would punch him for it. "The chocolate peanut butter pie? It’ll change your life. And you’re gonna pick a milkshake so I can roll you home without complaints, got it?"

___

"Pie and a milkshake?" Scott smirked, kicking Stiles right back. "I see your plan. This is all some kind of thing to make me so fat I can’t play lacrosse anymore, isn’t it? I know exactly what you’re doing." He sat back against the tacky cushion of the booth, dark eyes gleaming with the promise of mischief. He was restrained, his nature barely containing his urge to  _push_  everything as far as it would go just to see what would happen. Stiles was just the kind of trouble he wanted to get into.

"Life changing, huh? I guess I can’t say no to that. It’s kind of a lot of hype to live up to, you better hope you’re right." It was impossible not to stare at the pattern of freckles that dusted his skin while they were sitting so close. His friends already teased that Scott had them all mapped out and memorized, his furtive glances less subtle than he believed. There were more, tracing down his back and across his chest, he’d seen them in the locker room when he most definitely did  _not_  try to look no matter what Jackson had said. It was an accident, he actively tried to avoid Stiles and Jackson at practice, nothing good ever came from attracting the Captain’s attention. The eyes were even worse and Scott couldn’t look at them too long without feeling like he was drowning.

"You can’t go chocolate pie and chocolate milkshake, that’s just asking for trouble. It’s strawberry for me, dude. Kinda my favorite anyways. You know…just putting it out there that this whole thing doesn’t really feel very after school study session to me. Not that I’m complaining, but aren’t there usually books and stuff?"

___

Strawberry. Stiles made a mental note of that while running through a convenient image reel in his mind that contained nothing but memories of how McCall looked when he was putting things in his mouth. It was arranged by how low McCall’s ridiculous Henley’s hung. Stiles liked to think he had gotten more subtle since Lydia, but this was a whole new level of worrisome.

"You’ve been studying the wrong way for years, man. I am teaching life," Stiles argued. This close he could wonder what happened to the doe-eyed boy who answered Ms. Blake’s questions in mumbles, and could get quietly intense in Social Studies. He didn’t disappear, he just, he got - more _._ There was an intelligence behind that gaze that Stiles wanted to push. He wondered if they’d still be there when he had McCall on his back. 

Also, he was probably setting himself up for a course in ‘the pitfalls of eating too quickly,’ but that was part of life, too.

Snorting, Stiles added, “Besides, you sabotage yourself out there. I’ve never actually seen you  _standing_ on field.”

___

 “Ah, life. Yeah, I don’t know anything about that, clearly.” Scott couldn’t help but roll his eyes, wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He wasn’t  _completely_  hopeless, just 95.7% hopeless. There was always the rare occasions when he didn’t come off as a complete dork, though that tended to happen more by accident instead of when he tried.

The lacrosse comment had him squirming, slightly uncomfortable. He’d practiced all summer by himself trying to get better, psyching himself up to make first line. There wasn’t much else to do except play video games or read and his mom always tried to throw him outside for at least a few hours to make sure he didn’t turn into a hermit. Scott always figured that even with his asthma, there might be a chance he could make it if he just tried hard enough. Belief didn’t seem to pay off when he spent all his time with his butt warming the bench, but he’d tried and he’d keep trying. He didn’t even like lacrosse anymore, the only reason he joined was that he thought it might finally be a way for him to make friends. What a joke that turned out to be. Now, he was just too stubborn to quit, pushing back for his right to stay the harder people like Jackson tried to make him give up.

“I’ll get there, don’t worry.” He said, rolling his lip between his teeth. “I’ve been putting in a lot of time practicing, I’ll play one of these games. I just have to convince coach.”

___

Stiles had seen Scott wear his heart on his sleeve, and once he had, he’d never stopped looking for it. He couldn’t stop the way his eyes widened as he tried to fit as much of his foot in his mouth as he possibly could, and that was new. With Jackson, it was a constant competition to say the worst thing possible in any given situation, a war that showed no sign of ending. 

"Hey no I didn’t mean-"  _That you sounded like a dying hyena, Roscoe’s had better days, like we should have an ambulance on speed dial._  Stiles bit down on his tongue and had to fight to stop himself from reaching out and wiping the gleam off Scott’s lips. The waitress saved him from certain defeat. Stiles cleared his throat and plowed through their order. Strawberry, he remembered. and looked at Scott’s mouth.

It seemed an age before Stiles could risk opening his mouth again. This was what sheepishness felt like. “We could practice some time, if you like. If you’re not doing anything.”

And that veered too close to babbling for his liking. Stiles thought about the sort of people he usually approached for dates. They were few and far between, but he wouldn’t have taken any here. 

___

The boy tipped his head, studying Stiles quietly as if trying to decide if the offer was genuine. He didn’t mean to be so suspicious, but how many times did your amazingly awesome not-so-secret crush invite you to a little one on one practice? Experience had taught him that this was a bad decision, but he’d already taken a risk and nothing terrible had happened yet.

He was still too trusting, too willing to see the good in people. That went double for people who made him stumble over his own feet just by looking at him. His whole face lit up, beaming at the other boy and so freaking proud of himself that he hadn’t started bouncing. “You’re gonna give me some pointers, Stiles? Okay, you’re on. I’d love to get some extra practice in and it sounds like fun.” Scott wanted to tease, but he wasn’t sure how far he was allowed to go or what lines he shouldn’t cross. He settled instead for turning that smile on the waitress as she set the milkshakes in front of them, making sure to thank her.

“To life lessons?” He quirked an eyebrow and saluted with his milkshake. “This all better be as good as you said, you’ve got my hopes up now.”

___

Stiles wouldn’t have minded seeing Scott bounce. The guy just seemed so damn earnest. Stiles expected some sort of Earnest Fairy to come out of the sky and smack him on the head for not matching Scott’s level. And yet it had him preening, posture just a little straighter, grin a few watts too high. He was a few seconds away from patting himself on the back.  _Good save._  Inviting Scott to throw a ball around a few times was an achievement. It felt like a bullet of cotton candy had crashed through his teeth, and Stiles kind of loved sugar. 

He thanked the waitress when she put down their drinks and tried not to think about the way Scott beamed like she’d solved world hunger. They were milkshakes for fuck’s sake, milkshakes and a really good pie, but still. He kicked Scott under the table, a little more carefully than last time and let his leg rest where it lay. The position was less than comfortable, and not at all natural, but he had legs long enough to fake it. 

"This’ll teach you to doubt me," Stiles scoffed, radiating certainty as he raised his glass in answer.

He didn’t care if Scott wasn’t talking about milkshakes anymore. That was a promise. As he pulled his drink closer to chew the end of his straw, he paused. Stiles wanted to see what Scott looked like when he tried something new.

By the end of the night, Stiles had come to the considerable, if not altogether unsurprising realization that making Scott McCall smile had become a thing. Somewhere along the line he’d stopped being McCall and started being Scott, and that was okay, because Scott’s laugh was brighter anyway. 

Roscoe sputtered to a halt when they finally parked in front of the McCall household. Stiles had nearly fallen asleep more times than he cared to count on the road, but now, his heart did uncomfortable blackflippy things that had him tapping too fast on his steering wheel.

"So - Thursday?" He asked, like he didn’t remember the exact time and day they’d set aside for lacrosse practice. 

___

 _Was this a date? Was practice a date? Were they dating? …how the hell did people actually date other people?_ Scott smiled, calm and parrying back each sarcastic snarky comment while he quietly fell apart inside. Dating was one of those things that happened to other people, it got passed along like an STD among the popular crowd but seemed to skip right over him. Scott felt like this was something he should know, it was supposed to be obvious if you were going out. Was it always this complicated? This really should come with a rule book.

“Yeah, Thursday. I can’t wait, you’ve got to show me all your best moves, dude.” Scott leaned closer, arm brushing against Stiles and suddenly hyperaware of the way they touched and how easy it would be to just close the distance and kiss him. He could do it, it wouldn’t be that hard and when was he ever going to get a better chance. He had wanted a risk, now was his chance to finally take it. Scott got right up to the line, toes edged up to that boundary and ready to jump…but faltering at the last minute like always. “I-I’ll see you then?”

_Ugh, really smooth, Scott. Freaking loser._

___

At one point in the evening, Stiles had been severely tempted to challenge Scott to a curly fry eating contest. That was not date material. That was not  _anything_  material. Except he’d wanted to, and he’d wanted to press Scott into the booth’s stupidly bright red upholstery and see how dark he could get his cheeks. 

Stiles didn’t know what to make of that. So he backed up as quickly as he could, and went back to a more harmless, but tried and true method of - this. It didn’t stop him from wanting to do things to Scott’s mouth. It didn’t stop one of those things from being ‘stuff curly fries in it.’ That wasn’t a euphemism. Stiles didn’t know what that meant.

He knew what Scott meant, though, when he turned towards him. He knew enough to find how Scott hadn’t touched his seat belt endearing, how it wasn’t a practiced move. It left something twisting in his gut that Stiles didn’t want to identify, but when Scott stuttered, Stiles wouldn’t let him leave.

He cupped Scott’s cheek, and traced the skin under his eyes. It wasn’t a warning. It was certainty that Stiles was going to get everything he wanted.

He kissed Scott gently, barely more than a brush of lips, just enough to learn what he felt like this close. Then he leaned out of his seat with the click of a latch, carefully pushing Scott into his chair, but his touch never deepened. 

"Yeah… Thursday."

Everything beneath his skin itched for more.

___

 _Oh_. Scott was almost positive that his heart was going to beat right out of his ribs when Stiles cupped his face but there wasn’t time to have a meltdown when the other boy was leaning in so close and was kissing him and… _oh._

If this is what kissing was really like, he sort of loved it. The touch of lips was feather light and he wanted so much more. He wasn’t sure if it heat was from Stiles’s breath between them and the closeness of his body or the sudden rush of blood beneath his own skin that left him feeling fevered. This wasn’t happening, there was no way in hell this was actually happening. People like Stiles Stilinski didn’t just… they didn’t even notice people like him, let alone kiss them! He was one of the most popular kids in school, he hung around with Jackson and Lydia who ran the Beacon Hills High social hierarchy with a teenaged iron fist. The beautiful people herded together, they weren’t supposed to notice people like him or worse, they  _did_ notice and Scott would spend the next few days nursing bruised shoulders from being shoved into lockers.

It was the unspoken rule of high school. The cliques didn’t mix, everyone knew their place.

Scott was so ready to finally break the rules, all he needed was someone who could push him. He ran hesitant fingers through the back of Stiles’s hair (finally! Just like he’d imagined it) and pressed closer for another kiss, still chaste for all its bubbling enthusiasm. Thursday seemed like ages away.

___

And Scott surged forward, so Stiles had to kiss him again. Really, it was all Scott’s fault. He kissed him once, twice, three times, close-mouthed and sweet, sweeter than the milkshakes they’d guzzled down, and it drove Stiles crazy. He thought about taking Scott apart with his tongue and lips, thought about how much rougher he could be, and couldn’t stop the shivers that sped down his spine. 

 He traced his knuckles down Scott’s cheek, dragging them over his throat until his fingers could curl behind the other boy’s nape. Stiles urged him closer still, and he’d dreams that started just like this. Blunt nails dragged across Scott’s neck.

"Ever kissed anyone before?" He asked, a stab of shame to build sympathy. Stiles refused to think about who taught him that. He leaned closer so his cheek could brush against Scott’s. He was so warm. Stiles wanted to taste him everywhere.

___

Scott debated his answer, distracted by how close Stiles was and the feel of his cheek. It wasn’t for his pride, he didn’t care what people thought about him and his inexperience, but he suddenly found himself wondering if Stiles would care. Would it put him off to know that all of Scott’s romantic experience had to do with that one time he played Persona 4?

Honesty won out and he breathed a quiet “no” against Stiles’s skin. He could practically see Kira in the back of his mind shaking her head at how hopeless he was.  He was keenly aware of how he twisted his fingers into the shoulder of Stiles’s shirt and brave enough to press his mouth against the other boy’s neck.

“I-I should go.” Scott stuttered, making no motion to free himself from the seatbelt and escape. There was something about Stiles that made him want to crowd right to the edge and leap without hesitation just to impress him. It was strange to care so much about what someone else thought about him. _Convince me not to leave._

_____

A sense of proprietary glee washed over Stiles’ senses, something vicious and greedy and not at all ashamed. He watched the way the other’s boy flushed, still feeling the warmth of his mouth against his skin. Scott had given permission by not pushing him away, and all Stiles wanted to do was claim. His hands ran down Scott’s chest, ghost down the spaces inside his jacket and ghosting their way back up. 

_No._

It seemed like every fiber in his being rallied in protest. Stiles’ grip tightened. He couldn’t take his eyes off Scott’s, darker than night and stunned wide. Scott was already halfway his, and he wasn’t the sort to give up his toys. 

"You should," he whispered, and dragged his fingers over Scott’s pulse. Stiles kissed him like he wanted to tear him apart, demanding entrance with a wicked tongue and insistent lips. He licked over Scott’s teeth, tasted sugar on his tongue. It was over too soon. Stiles wanted to map out every inch of him, drag out every sound Scott could make.

This was a good a place to start as any.

He unbuckled Scott’s seat belt for him.

___

Scott was sure there must be electricity running though his nerves, everything sparked at the barest touch of Stiles’s hands down his chest. Hand him a couple of wires and he could have powered all of Beacon Hills. He was breathing too hard, lips parted to try and catch his breath like he’d been sprinting and it was a mistake that Stiles exploited… such a mistake.

The boy couldn’t stop himself from moaning into Stiles’s mouth, so far past being embarrassed. This was really friggin happening, stuff like this didn’t happen! He had always assumed he was going to die a virgin and he was not going to accept that. His mouth went dry as Stiles reached over him to unbuckle the seat belt, licking his lips and surprised he could still taste the other boy. He wanted more and leaned in to steal another kiss, experimentally swiping his tongue along the top of Stiles’s mouth.

 _For fuck’s sake, stop hesitating!_  He took a running leap and vaulted himself straight into trouble. “My mom works nights at the hospital a lot.” Scott said, wincing at how strained his voice sounded. Calm down, play it cool. “So if you wanted to, like… come in for a bit? That would be okay with me.”

___

Stiles was quickly learning that underestimating Scott McCall was a bad idea.

It felt like the ground had shifted after him, and Stiles could only focus on how he hadn’t planned for this to happen. And how he really, really wanted to say fuck-it-all and see how Scott looked spread out on his bed. He wanted to see if he could make Scott’s voice sound a lot worse.

"Yeah-? Oh yeah. Yeah that sounds good." He blurted, stumbling over his own words, and normally he saw these things coming. Normally he knew exactly why they would. There were better things to do than dwell. He tugged Scott by front of his jacket and kissed him until Stiles saw stars.

If Scott had an asthma attack now, Stiles would punch something.

When he got out of the Jeep, his knees buckled. Walking in a straight line was a lot harder than he’d expected.

___

He was dying and loving every second of the torture. Scott kissed him back, following his lead and trying to learn all those little tricks Stiles could do with his mouth that sent shivers down his spine and stole the air from his lungs. It was a little uncoordinated, a little sloppy, but with his enthusiasm, Scott was a quick learner.

_Wow._

The boy was grinning, nervous and excited and trying so hard not to let Stiles see the flailing loser on the inside. It was Stiles,  _Stiles_! The guy he’d been secretly and not-so-secretly crushing on since he’d moved back in with his mom and started at BH High School. The one his friends kept teasing him about when it was a little too obvious he was staring at the other boy’s mouth or trying so hard not to make changing in the locker room awkward. Jackson might have been right calling him a creep but he really had been trying! You weren’t supposed to crush on the bully’s best friend, but it was so hard when Stiles would throw his head back and laugh and Scott wanted to be the one who could make him lose it like that.

Scott fumbled with the door, mentally swearing at his clumsy fingers as he finally managed to get the door open. He groped for the light switch, then gave up and groped for Stiles instead.

___

The more Stiles saw of Scott the more he wanted, and he hadn’t seen anywhere near enough. With after practice showers that seemed like a fucking crime. Stiles was going to make up for it, in every way he knew how, if he had a say in this. 

Scott smiled, and Stiles didn’t know if he wanted to buy him a puppy or bend him over his Jeep and take him with half their clothes still on. It was very confusing.

"Nice house. Very- house…" Stiles didn’t get much more out, some halfhearted attempt at small talk knocked on its back and buried six feet underground because  _oh_  this was how they were playing. This was exactly how they were playing, and Stiles hadn’t been this excited since Serenity was announced. Scott was on him, and there was more excitement. All at once, he spun them around, pinning Scott to the door. He dragged Scott’s hand down, guiding it over his hips and waist to settle on the clasp of his jeans before kissing him, long and low and sweet, guiding his tongue with teasing flicks. 

He wanted that light switch. He wanted to see Scott fall apart.

"You’re really really hot," he blurted out, and genuinely thought that was smooth.

___

He hit the door with a soft grunt and a nervous flutter in his stomach. Scott surrendered under Stiles’s mouth, the willing student and so very eager to follow his lead. His hands hesitated, fingers curled around the clasp of Stiles’s pants until he suddenly laughed. “You think I’m hot? Dude, you’re… I-I… seriously?”

There was nothing hidden about the way Scott looked up at him, eyes bright in the shadows. The fear and adoration was clear, a terrified sort of reverence like he wasn’t sure if this was a dream or a trick but he wanted, he wanted  _so much_  that he was willing to risk everything. There was a sudden burst of confidence at knowing the amazing Stiles Stilinski thought he was  _hot_  (holy fuck!) and he unbuttoned the other boy’s pants with a smirk.

Scott ran his hands over Stiles’s crotch, breath catching to feel him hard wondering what it would feel like to have someone else’s dick in his hands or what he could actually taste like and  _oh my god_. He tamped down on a hysterical giggle he could feel threatening to escape, sliding his hand inside and pulling Stiles’s cock free. “Please.” He didn’t mean to say it, the word forcing its way free as a sigh. 

___

Lights flooded the room and Stiles couldn’t regret. He kind of loved it.

Scott looked like the sweetest sort of wicked, and Stiles didn’t know what to do. His breath caught in his throat, his head spinning with desire. He slipped a leg between Scott’s pushing them even closer and forcing the other boy to spread. Oh God, he wanted to do this at least twice.

Scott’s palm almost felt too hot, and Stiles shoved him into the wall and kissed him like he wanted him to break. He bucked his hips, thrusting against his partner’s hand. He was supposed to have a speech here. A ‘We can take it slow’ sort of thing that was nothing more than pretty bullshit. ‘We can wait,’ and ‘We’re just friends’ fell in with that, too.

He tugged at Scott’s jeans, undoing them with deft fingers and sliding them down his hips, barely pulling away so they could drop to his knees. He pressed them together, slotting into place and using every inch of his height to his advantage. He wouldn’t stop kissing Scott. He wouldn’t give him a chance to breathe, fingers curling eagerly around his thick shaft, coaxing him to attention.

"Get your hand wet," he whispered, tugging Scott’s ear between his teeth. "Use your mouth."

Stiles was going to wreck him. 

___

Breathing was overrated, all he wanted to do was focus on the way Stiles’s tongue played with his mouth. Even with the sudden light, his eyes were dark and dilated. Was this moving too fast? It wasn’t like being a virgin meant anything except that he was embarrassingly aware of how short this might last if he didn’t rein it in. They always said the first time was terrible, but how could it be terrible with Stiles’s hand wrapped so perfectly tight against his cock that he couldn’t stop the jerking thrusts against him.

Scott hissed softly at the feel of teeth, entire body breaking out in goosebumps. Glancing down, he wondering just how he could better use his mouth, but he didn’t want to lose the friction that was rapidly eroding any ability to string his thoughts together. He spat on his hand, stroking it back over Stiles’s cock and surprised at how different it felt than his own. The weight was different, the slight curve to it, the trace of veins and the way slick precum dribbled across back backs of his knuckles. He stopped, bringing his hand back up to his lips to lick the precum from his skin, just to know what Stiles tasted like. Everything was new and Scott was fascinated.

It was like an experiment. He knew that he liked his grip firm and that he twisted around the sensitive head just  _so_ , trying to see if Stiles’s liked it too. Was it too fast? Too slow? Did he need more fricti- “Aah!” Scott’s brain buzzed and he rutted against the other boy. Whatever this was,  _this_  was the thing he liked now.

___

Stiles barely gave Scott room to move, pinning him so thoroughly against the door like he was afraid he’d disappear. A ragged exhale shook his bones, and that wasn’t fair. That was the hottest thing he’d ever seen, and Stiles wasn’t supposed to be this far gone. This was supposed to be a kink in his system, maybe two, maybe five, maybe he wanted to tie Scott to his bed and never let him up but  _Jesus._  This wasn’t fair. Scott felt so good.

He moaned, long and low, claiming kiss after kiss. He lapped down every sound, every whimper, sucking Scott’s tongue into his mouth. He grabbed a fist full of Scott’s hair, forcing his head up, demanding more access. He dragged his teeth over his partner’s soft soft mouth, leaving him wet and raw.

"Stay," he pressed into Scott’s skin, licking a wet stripe down his neck. He sucked dark skin between his lips, tasting sweat before biting hard enough to bruise. Everyone was going to know what Scott had been doing the next day, and there was a whole list Stiles wanted to fuck through.

He guided Scott’s hand clumsily, too busy mapping out the crevices of his throat, and why did Scott still have clothes on why was he still wearing his stupidly stupidly hot jacket God?! Stiles lined up against him, Scott’s cock throbbing against his own as he fisted them together, stroking and thrusting and it was good so good so hot scream Scott  _please_ -

Stiles teeth bit down, hard enough to break skin as he came. He panted hard against Scott’s skin, stroking out every last drop of cum. He covered them both with it, phenomenally indifferent to the mess he was making. His head thudded heavily on the door when he was done, but he could still whisper, “You wanna clean me up, Scotty?”

If Scott had limits, Stiles kind of wanted to wreck them all.

___

“F-fuuuck.” Scott dimly thought he was saying something, but the words were lost in Stiles’s mouth.  His body bucked and writhed, gasping as his head was yanked back and he never thought being rough would feel so good.  _Stay_. If Scott had a choice, being fucked to death against the front door seemed like a pretty awesome way to go.

He moaned as bruises were written across his skin, sure that his legs would have given way if it wasn’t for Stiles’s weight pinning him in place. One hand groped for purchase, curling around the back of the other boy’s neck to pull him closer. His red and swollen mouth panted against Stiles’s ear and he thrusted hard into that tight grip. There was no pretense of a rhythm, just a desperate rutting against his friend’s (was this friendship?) cock and lost in how good it felt, how perfectly they fit together, how he needed more, was begging,  _pleading_  for it.

Pain spiked through his nerves as bliss raced through him, the mix leaving him screaming as he came, spilling thick between them. He couldn’t remember ever coming so hard. He liked to consider himself something of an expert on the subject, a lonely kid definitely had enough practice but holy hell… Scott went limp, sticky cum smeared hands clinging to Stiles’s shirt as he tried to keep breathing. His heart was beating too fast, his lungs constricting as he edged into an attack, but he tried to will his body not to betray him. Not now! Could he be any more freaking embarrassing?

This counted as losing your virginity even if they hadn’t actually stripped or made it to a bed or even the couch, right? Scott was going to count it regardless.

Stiles spoke and it was like Scott had to learn how to breathe all over again. “Y-yeah.” He laughed, wheezing harder than he meant to. “Yes. God, yes. You can’t go home like this.”

___

"That’s not- Um."

That’s not fair. That’s not what he meant. That even anywhere close to what he meant.  _That’s not fair._  

Stiles didn’t know how that was endearing, but it was. It had no right to be. It was. Scott looked like Stiles was something shiny and new, and Stiles was a sucker for shameless adoration. Scott also looked like he’d stepped right out of a porno, so that didn’t hurt things at all. Stiles kissed him, and smiled the entire time, holding on too tightly and smearing cum against Scott’s bare thighs. It was easy to pull him close. Stiles didn’t think about how easy. It just worked. 

Scott was so responsive and eager and loud, and Stiles wanted to do it again, holy shit. Stiles wanted to do that now.

"You gotta bedroom, dude? We can actually make it there this time," Stiles said, grinning shamelessly, happy to take full responsibility of everything. Then he noticed something wasn’t quite right. Then he noticed the way Scott heaved. "Scott?"

He didn’t even have the chance to tuck himself in. All at once, Stiles was ushering them into the house, kicking off his pants as he went. It was either that or trip over them. He all but shoved Scott into his couch, wondering just for a moment, how similar this was to a panic attack. 

"Where’s your inhaler?" He demanded, tone sharpened with more concern than he should have been feeling. What he should have been feeling was post-orgasm awesome and the shape of Scott’s mouth. He hovered over the other teen, looking around the room for a large blinking sign that proclaimed: Inhalers.

___

“I-it’s okay.” He huffed, trying to reassure Stiles but not able to catch his breath enough to speak. It wasn’t a full blown attack, his chest was tight, but he could still breathe. Scott gestured towards his backpack, laugh turning into a coughing fit as he fumbled with the zippers. Could this be any more embarrassing? So much for trying to impress Stiles, he could feel his cheeks burn from more than lack of oxygen. One quick hump up against the wall and he was scrabbling for his inhaler.

Scott wiped his hands on his shirt, shaking the inhaler and taking a hit. He could feel the easing in his lungs immediately, leaning back against the couch and slowly exhaling. Asthma attack  _and_  half naked, not even the normal half. This was kind of a nightmare, he was almost positive he’d had this dream before. He took a slow breath, testing his control and was pleased that he didn’t start coughing again.

“Hey…” Scott smiled up at the other boy. “See? Not a big deal, I’m used to it. Don’t worry about me.” He reached out, snagging Stiles by the front of his shirt and tugging him closer until he had to straddle him on the couch. He really should have been more worried, but the look on Stiles’s face had him laughing at how ridiculous everything was. What a way to lose your virginity to the hottest guy on the lacrosse team, this was what he got for trying to be sexy. He should just learn to accept the fact he was an awkward dork in every part of his life. When he told his friends, he’d have to leave out this part and maybe add in some exploding narwhals and robots attacking. “I like to live dangerously?”

___

If he had to drive to the hospital without pants, Stiles was going to be seriously, seriously pissed off. Or so he liked to think. More than likely, he’d panic and run a bunch of red lights. He already did that without an emergency to motivate him. Scott was red in the face, but he could still smile so brightly, and fuck this shit, Stiles was going to start packing inhalers with his condoms. “You loser!”

He covered Scott’s body with his own, all but tackling him to the couch to kiss him on his mouth. Stiles pulled away a second later, face twisted in disapproval as he tried to lick away the taste of medicine. His shoulders shook as he laughed, and never let it be said that Stiles was not resourceful. He kissed his way down Scott’s jaw, revisiting the bruises he’d left across his throat, and doing a manful job of not giggling.

“Most people chase lions, you animal,” he snickered, making his way back up Scott’s face, careful to work around his pretty lips, but his hands wouldn’t stop fluttering over his partner’s frame. He was nervous. He couldn’t help it. He was good(ish) at handling his medical issues. Other people’s problems were just that – other people’s problems.

He couldn’t stop fawning over Scott, his shirt clinging to his back uncomfortably and one of his legs falling asleep where he’d dropped, in his haste to make sure he wasn’t going to kill the other teen. “Oh God I almost fucked you to death,  _dude.”_

___

“ _Yeah_  you did.” Scott didn’t sound upset, more amused by his brush with disaster than anything with just the tiniest bit of cockiness at the thought. “It would have been kind of an epic way to go. You could put that on your sex resume, who is gonna say no to a guy that literally fucked someone to death? That’s quite a lot of responsibility you’re packing in your shorts, you have to be really careful with it.” If he was going to be a loser, then he’d be a full on loser. There wasn’t much worse than having an asthma attack from sex, why bother trying to act cool now.

Scott gave a quiet groan at the feel of Stiles’s mouth dragging across his skin, running his own hands underneath his shirt and up the nobs of his spine. There was muscle there, Stiles did his best to hide it, but Scott had noticed. He noticed everything when it came to Stiles. Maybe he tried to hide it because he was friends with Jackson who was such an exhibitionist when it came to his body. The Captain liked showing off and he liked when people watched him, but Scott liked the feel of these muscles moving under soft pale skin better.

“He was right, you know. Kind of.” Scott admitted quietly. “Not totally, I wasn’t creeping all that much. I swear I was trying not to, but it’s hard not to notice the hottest guy in school.”  _Be brave_. He slid his hands down, cupping Stiles’s ass with a grin and wiggling his hips as well as he could in this position.  “Lions are boring, I like things that are riskier.”

___

Holy shit, McCall had a mouth on him, and Stiles could appreciate it even more now that he’d spent so much time mapping out every inch of it. Stiles laughed until he snorted, caught up in a whirlwind of  _Oh-shit-there-goes-sexy,_  but it didn’t matter because he was doing something right. He could usually tell when he made people like him. Being around Jackson and Danny so much had taught him well. With Scott, though, he was half-convinced that the doe-eyed boy had been dropped in the head.

That was perfectly fine because Stiles would kiss him anyway. 

"I’m armed and dangerous," Stiles grinned, lifting an arm to flex exaggeratedly, snickering like the loser Scott so obviously was. Stiles really liked kissing him though. He’d hoped the taste of asthma meds would deter that, but they hadn’t yet. He should have been a lot more worried than he was.

Then Scott opened his mouth, and Stiles’ world slowly crashed because damn, this kid had it bad.

"Scott," he started, tasting the way the name rolled off his tongue. He stroked up and down the boy’s thigh, pulling him closer. This was bad, probably. Stiles knew Scott liked him, but the kid was making little heartfelt speeches and smiling like Stiles cared more than he did. Stiles didn’t. He really didn’t. He just wanted something, and this was where he should’ve said, it was fun but that was it.

"You really gotta get out of your clothes. At least lions are naked."

___

Scott rolled his eyes and grinned. “Yeah, you’re definitely packing, dude. I’m super impressed, I’ll bet you can bench press your weight, right?” He was totally complimenting him, no trace of sarcasm or snark. Nope. He’d never do such a thing. He also totally didn’t want to run his tongue across those muscles either or see how they looked tense and sweaty and…

“Cats aren’t really my thing, though the naked part I can do.” He reached behind his head, pulling his shirt off and flinging it across the room. All that extra practice over the summer had paid off. He might be an uncoordinated asthmatic, but he’d pushed himself as hard as he could until he found actual muscle. His mother worried, especially when he hooked a chin-up bar in his bathroom doorway, but he was going to play this season and was willing to put in the work. All part of the plan when his Dad left for San Francisco and he moved back in with his mom. A new start, a new chance to be something better in high school. He wasn’t going to be a loser anymore, okay, he wasn’t going to be  _just_ a loser anymore.

His body was aching to respond with all the eager lust of a teenager and Scott was so far from caring that he was going to ruin his couch or have to explain any of this to his mom. This was the best worst idea he’d ever had. “I don’t have, um, I don’t have any… you know, protection.”

___

Stiles would have protested over just who was packing except he was too busy whistling, “Holy crap, McCall, where’ve you been hiding?”

He was pretty sure Scott answered. Scott’s answer might have even been important, but everything else seemed to pale in comparison when Stiles had the option to shimmy low to paint wet stripes across the other boy’s chest with his tongue. He kissed over toned abs, teeth grazing just over Scott’s belly button.

"Lions got  _nothing_  on this.” He beamed up at Scott, his warning falling on careless ears. It was hard to be bothered, when Stiles was too busy trying to get hard. 

"Oh…" Stiles murmured, rubbing a cheek against Scott’s hip bone, long legs tucked under himself clumsily as he peppered tanned skin with kisses, and it was  _nice_  here, right between Scott’s legs, so close to so many things he wanted to taste. Stiles licked his lips. “That’s cool. I can get creative.”

He took Scott apart inch by inch. He tore him down, then put him back together. It was becoming Stiles’ favorite thing in the world. Scott was so responsive, so eager, loud and shameless and Stiles loved to make him scream. They had the night. Stiles brought Scott off again and again, with his fingers and tongue, and at one point, the blunt side of a hair brush. They got to the bedroom eventually, with legs that felt boneless and after a halfhearted attempt at cleaning up. Stiles left only once to move his jeep out of the driveway to somewhere less blatantly obvious, wearing nothing but Scott’s old pajamas.

In the morning, he would wake, tucked into a bed meant for one with half his limbs aching in protest, but being late for school had never been so worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an ongoing collaborative work/RP!
> 
> You can find Tmautog's awesome fics on [tumblr](http://tmautog.tumblr.com/tagged/writing) and keep up with this story [here](http://nevertrustastilesthing.tumblr.com/)
> 
> You can read Rune/TruebornAlpha [Here](http://fightingforthepack.tumblr.com/) and find her on tumblr at [ Runicscribbles](runicscribbles.tumblr.com)
> 
> Art by the amazing [Rouvere](http://rouvere.tumblr.com/)


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